After Arthur, Part I: The Holy Grail
by eehw
Summary: Generations after Arthur's death in Camlann, Albion is fully united & embroiled in deep conflict with the savage Scots to the north. A new king proclaims himself Once and Future, moving the capital to his own holdings in the west, using violence, magic, and foreign armies to force subjugation & continue his endless war. Strangely however, Merlin is nowhere to be found...
1. Chapter 1: Enter Albion

**GALAHAD Chapter 1/Prologue: Enter Albion**

Shadows drew close as the shuttered wagons rumbled down the banked track, shrouded bracken nearly covering the dry-stone walls to either side. It was almost noon, but it didn't feel it. The rain made sure of that.

The men's grumbling voices were but mere muffed whispers to the boy's ears, hollow noises in the air only serving to remind him how foreign he was here. Being thought a mute had its upsides; he could eat and sleep and travel without much attention, nor… persecution, as was so common with people of his kind in these parts. His voice, if revealed, would have given him away a long time ago.

_Scotti._ He could still hear the foul knight's voice squawk in his ear even now, rough hands fisting at his breeches. _Scotti scum._

Of course, if revealed he could never get any word in edgewise that his accent was in no part indicative of his race, for the people of Albion were at war, and with any such war often fled a home for reason. _An immigrant of a country ought to pick up the accent to fit in,_ he'd always try to say, only to be cut off before he could go any further by frantic repulsion or slick knives leaving their hiding-holes.

A war often prevented such cordial discussion, anyway.

Thus, here he was, a half-Angle boy with a Scotti accent near seventeen in a cart on his way to the very capital of the enemy, sneaking into a hostile land in the middle of Albion's second war since it had been united four generations prior, with little to call his own but a sheepskin vest, shoddy wooden shoes, and an iron necklace from his mother that was quite rusted over at that.

If Galahad hadn't been so wrapped up in maintaining his mute persona, he'd have called himself a very, _very_ stupid boy. His dead brother had thought as much when he was alive, anyway.

Ever since childhood he had heard stories of the land of magic, the place in which glory reigned forever, since the spiteful conqueror Arthur and the other lords of Camelot had united the land and pushed back the Saxons and their foul witch, only to betray the country they helped to build. Ever since childhood, he had oft cradled the metal of his long-dead mother, his only family memento to speak of, with so much care; a triskellion it was, the symbol of the druids of Albion.

_Perhaps I'll find the Druids. Maybe they'll help me._ It was a foolish thought.

"We'll stop here. Get out, boy."

He landed in the mud with a squelch. When he looked up, he saw the merchants leading their mules and sheep up off the roadside to a low, empty shelter. Such sheep-crofts were not uncommon in the north, and it was almost comforting to see one even here, so close to the capital. It was still far different to the heaths of the south or the highlands he called home, but it was enough. Perhaps he could be normal here, too.

_That too, was a lie._

The rain was fading, wisps of cloud rising to reveal a wide plain to the south, dark with shadow. One of the men, (Alan, Alain? He couldn't care to remember) was trying with middling success to start a fire as the wet ground proved his efforts rather futile.

Perhaps…. as long as they don't notice, and he wouldn't be branded a spy or some enemy witch…

The familiar rush of magic tugged in him, and the fire burst to life. Alan seemed rather pleased with himself, to Galahad's hidden amusement. He stood up and walked to the door-frame, looking out over the dark plain, farmland shadowed by the rolling clouds.

A black fortress stood on a hill impregnable at the foot of the tumbled lands before them, shadowed mountains and peaks half-streaked with the last light of day only a faint smudge in the distance, ever building behind. Dinas Emrys: Capital of Albion.

_The future. _He took in a sharp breath.

It was the nexus of the war, the seat carved out and wrestled from two dragons for nearly half a generation by the holiest of lords, the Once and Future King himself; it stood black and strong from the fog of the vale. There, magic reigned over the land with the Old Religion stronger than it had ever been. The king had claimed no enemy would ever break it or the kingdom he had united, and so it would seem had the Scotti decided to bow. Instead, they took what sorcerors they had and holed up in their hillforts and towns of the north, defending their lands and pushing against the expansionist efforts of the southern kings. No one was supposed to go against him anymore, not since the war had begun, and whispers started weaving through the land of dark knights in black hollows, night-calls in the dark should a bad thing be said of the king.

He knew better than anyone what the black knights would do should they come.

One could not go against prophecy, after all. The Scots in his village hadn't joked when they said that more men died within Albion in the name of their King than warriors on the borderlands themselves.

It was very much a dangerous place indeed for anyone, no less someone with the accent of a Scot. Galahad didn't care, though. His fingernails dug into the meat of his hand. He wouldn't let the King's presence cow him from this opportunity.

It was the only chance he had left to find what he sought, the only place he could get answers.

The Holy Grail. The immortal, the instrument of the protection the king so promised, and the very answer to his family's suffering all these years, lay within those walls. The very spearhead of the terror the King had cast upon the land.

His current path was something he had decided long ago, and something he would never back out of, not now.

He would take any chance he could to find the answer to his family's death. He would find the blasted cup the King so professed to master, and he would take it for his mother; his father; his sister. He would take it for every person forced out and killed with the advent of the Once and Future King, every child left parentless in the name of perverted prophecy.

The triskellion on the family's necklace burned cold in his fingers, nurturing his quiet rage.

He coughed loudly, crawling closer to the fire of the other men in the croft, them barely paying him any heed. He didn't care though; it wasn't as if anyone had cared for him for two years now anyway. Even the warmth of the dancing flames couldn't melt the burning ice in his heart, the slow murmurs of grizzled men softly melding with the crackling around him.

A smile graced Galahad's chapped lips for the first time in many years, his eyes flashing with the faintest memory of golden ecstasy. He could almost feel his mother's arms wrap around him, warmth incarnate spreading through his core.

It was gone almost as soon as it began, the display of emotion dying abruptly as grey light faded to black, night taking all but the fire away.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of _everything_.

Everything that mattered, anyhow.

**AN: Not a fan of Author's notes but I feel like one is necessary more for me to remember than anyone else haha.**

**This is something I just came up with on the spur of the moment the other day, and thought it might be interesting to post here. I have not watched Merlin in a while, so forgive me if details are wrong further in the story (or feel free to leave a review with constructive feedback along with that!). All the events of the show (including Arthur's death) happened aside from the last scene with Merlin in present day; hopefully the time period is self-explanatory in relation to the show. Have no idea if I will continue. Don't expect any of the Camelot characters to show up aside from Merlin (who will have a big role later), but for now, we'll stick with some of the OCs (I will have multiple POV's, but Galahad's story will be the main one here I think, at least for now).**

**I am also not going to be basing this much off of IRL geography or Britain from the time period (as you can see by Vortigern's story taking place after Arthur's time), mainly because the show took so many liberties with geography and timeline (and even flora and fauna!) that there's no point (I will have homages like Snowden, the war with the Scots, etc. every once in a while though).**

**EDIT: Edited chapter to account for changes in outline.  
EDIT 2: Additional edits for grammar and logistics, I've revisited this and actually have an idea for where the story ought to go.**


	2. Chapter 2: A Matter of Trust

**Maleagant Ch 1/ Leofgifu Ch 1/ A Matter of Trust**

Maleagant was excited.

It wasn't often he felt such an emotion entertain him; his task as the captain of the Once and Future King's holy guard was a long and tired one, with little entertainment now that most lords were at the north border, and the sorcerors enslaved or converted. He was but an extra pawn at court, a toy for his King to show off at ceremonies and celebrations, but nothing more.

He the first in his line to take the royal sword, and he was proud to have been privy to the rise of his King. He was a recent addition to the Guard, but one his king had spoken highly of. It made him happy, that someone thought him worthy of being more than just thief or second-rate sorceror in the woods of Gorre.

Well, it did, until the hours grew longer, and his work grew dull, and his king turned out to be little more than a spider on his throne that hoarded more secrets than gold. Secrets, that he might add, he was privy to more than most. He was a pawn yes, but not for much longer.

After today, he would be playing his own games.

Maleagant drew himself up in attention as the horns blew. A shout, and the rest of the guard slammed their lances into the ground. His bright eyes met his King's, cold and depthless grey, but pleased nonetheless.

"Your Majesty, the Queen of Saxony is here!" the messenger regaled. The King looked up from his position on his makeshift throne, and all the hill silenced in waiting.

They were sat encamped on Old Oak's Hill, some fifty guard and the royal court, for one of the most momentous agreements in the past century. The war with the Scots would be won through these people, so the Once and Future King promised. They would lead Albion into full union at last, as prophecy always said it would.

The Saxons, once Albion's downfall in the past, were now its salvation. The ancient stones of the Druids would be their witness.

A merlin falcon screamed, and the great row of feet not far away grew louder. These were no soft people, Maleagant mused. The King rose from his seat, his colourless eyes surveying the host before them.

A masked warrior upon a great steed rode from the back of the foreign warriors, silent as ever, until she came in front of the King's chair. There was nothing but wind for a time, and then she dismounted, her eyes still looking down upon the foreign king before her. He nodded, standing up from his throne: they were at level height. She took off her mask with dainty fingers, horse hair swaying in the wind. The translator beside them nodded, allowing the meeting to begin.

"I believe we are to negotiate?"

"Before the gods, as promised."

Her eyes swept the henge around them. She spat on the ground at the foot of the king. She spoke something then, and the translator looked shocked. The king urged him to continue.

"These are not my gods."

"They are gods nonetheless, are they not? This is the circle of the Cailleach, erected by the Priestesses of old, the gate to the spirit world or so it's all smile on us here."

"You said we would have land here."

"And land you will. In Northumbria there is land aplenty. A gift not even Morgana could give your people."

Maleagant almost snorted. The lands in the north of Northumbria were known to be poor for farming, and with the Pict raids there would be little hope for the people of Saxony. The foreign queen seemed not to care, though.

"You are having problems there, yes? The blue men with red mouths."

"Yes. The Picts."

She laughed, a strange musical laugh. Maleagant liked that laugh.

"I will fight your shit war, and I will win it. But the Picts have magic. I have sorcerors, but they are few. You will give me more, and I will fight better."

There was a murmur in the royal court behind the throne, but the Once and Future King did not care. He gave a curt nod.

"I will give you my best knights, and my best court sorcerors. Maleagant is both; he will come with you on your journey north."

"I do not trust him." Maleagant felt half offended at that. If his King's plan went well enough, he would soon have her to himself. She would know to trust him, then. He would be sure of it.

"I will give you their names, and you can bind them. They will not fail you."

"I do not trust him, He will go separate, and we meet there."

"Of course."

A man came up to her, whispering something in her ear. Her lips pursed. Maleagant felt antsy. She would prove difficult, if she did not trust him. No matter.

"Offa wishes to know when land will be negotiated. Now, or then?"

"It is already prepared."

This was news to Meleagant, but it was not his place to question his King.

The man, Offa, scowled and walked away. The queen turned back to the king.

"I will go. Tell your witch-knights to come, but not with me. We will meet at the border."

"May the gods protect you in your journey."

The translator said his king's good wishes to her, but she only scoffed, mounting her horse. The host left them as the sun sunk beneath the sky, the stars wheeling ahead.

The King smiled.

* * *

"You do know the Whore King and his filthy Rat-Court's shortchanged us?"

They had only arrived back at their sullen camp scarcely an hour prior, and Queen Leofgifu had little patience for the words of her advisor. _If only Gamile were here._

"What, how could any Great King of such closely united lands of Essetir, Mercia, Northumbria, Camelot, and Wessex possibly lie? Of course I knew, Offa." She rolled her eyes, letting her hand yet again fall on the map spread before her. Finally, she turned back to him.

"I am a queen. I may be dowager, but I am not stupid. Putting us in a small strip of land, a buffer from the north, lambasted by Picts? His people will hate him for this, and yet he does it anyway. And what of us? We get little good land for farming or raking. The bastard may as well have cast us to the dwarrows of Hel, tact be damned. Of course I know we are but fodder to him."

"Then you know my concerns," Offa wheezed out, his flushed, pitiful face betraying little she didn't already know. "I have no need to tell you?"

"You have no need to tell me, because I have no need to care. We sail for Northumbria on the morn. The King's supplies and weapons stores have already been loaded onto the ships."

"My queen, you have to consider-"

"Nothing. I have to consider nothing. We did not sail from Saxony all the way to Albion for nothing. Nay, I know what I seek. It lies in this soil, whether you lot like it or not."

"You are as foolish as you are headstrong," he said, drawing himself up as if he actually meant something. Leofgifu smiled her secret smile, the one only her husband could ever decipher. Worms would have little hope.

"You cannot talk to me like this."

"The late king, he-"

"Do not use him to further your bandy, baseless words! He was the only one to lead us before, and I am the only one to lead us now."

Offa seemed to pace, trying to hide where his eyes went. Leofgifu already knew what he would say next.

"You ought to wed. It would make you stronger. Already the men that row your ships question your rights to rule. If you were in arrangement, then perhaps you would not face such opposition… "

"What, in arrangement with you? The other men in our ships? The Whore King? Those witch-knights at court, or what, their brat leader, Maleagant?"

"Why, I-"

"Offa, you are many things." A rat, especially. "A husband is not one of them. Look around us. What do you see?"

"I see our men squat in a shitty camp on the shore of a place where our ancestors died for a witch, alone, tired, and hungry. The Great Horse-Twins-Of-Thunder-And-Sky do not smile on us here. Our ancestors do not smile on us here. We are at the mercy of foreign lands, foreign gods, and foreign kings. And you... "

"I what, Offa?"

"You led us here."

"And why, pray, did I lead us here?"

"You wanted us to die."

"No, I wanted us to escape. Did you forget the clans around us were growing hungry, raiding our storehouses and sacred barrows? We were no longer the powerful people we were in the past. Our ancestors left to fight for a witch, and instead of bounty they came back with nothing."

The night-birds of Albion called out strange songs over the crashing surf through the tent flap. If only she could rest, rather than deal with the words of snakes.

"My husband was a very private man, I know this. You were his closest advisor in life, yes? Besides me, of course."

"He told me everything."

Everything indeed.

"Even when he was sick? Even in his bower, when I ordered all men out as he lay there on the bed, dying in my arms? He told you everything then?"

"Well no, but-"

"If he truly told you everything, did he ever tell you the dream he had on his death-bed, half reeking of piss and shit? The dream of the Great Wyrm of Albion?"

"He never told me that, my queen."

"How could he? He was dying. I was the only one with his bedpan, I wouldn't let anyone else in. I know in that night the Great God Hengist came down and drove something in him, for it was the first time he had spoken in weeks."

"What did he say?"

"The Great Wyrm came to him, warning of a time when a great Kingdom of magic would fall, and a new one would rise from the ashes. It told him the time of the Saxons had come for Albion, and that we would be the true victors. It spoke of the Barrow-Kings in the north, and it said they would the key to everything."

"A prophecy could mean anything when it comes from a dying man, forgive me."

"You are forgiven. I know. I never much cared for prophecies, or songs of destiny. Those are things of the past. Our neighbours took that from us."

"So why tell me of this?"

"I came to this barren rock, because of how much I loved him. He had dreams of Albion since he was a boy, and now he's dead, no island or gold or glory to his name."

"You're going to betray him. The Whore King. You are foolish then, for anyone knows that you cannot do this without sorcerers, it is a kingdom of magic. We have few, but not nearly enough. I don't trust _his, either._"

"Of course, Offa. Do you not forget those Scotti have sorcerors aplenty, in their rat-nests in the hills. I'll take his little strip he gave me, and I'll take care of his problem, and I'll take whatever sorcerors we enslave and use them to _take care of him_. _Anyone_ knows _that." _The tent was silent for a moment. Their eyes met. "I want you to go now, Offa."

"Yes, my queen."

And go he did. Leofgifu sighed. One last look at the map today, and they would sail tomorrow. Killing rabble would be a small price to pay for the fruition of her husband's dream.

And she would not lose.

**_AN: This hasn't been updated in a while, and I will likely be sporadic and change old uploads as I see fit. This was sitting in my files for a while, so I thought I might as well put it here. Read/review._**

**_EDIT: Updated for grammar and _****_continuity_**


	3. AN

**AN: Last Chapter had something messed up with the upload; should be fixed?**

This most recent update has reworked some segments of the last two chapters, standardising the story and establishing it properly, more or less. Someone asked when I'll update - I'll aim to update at least once a week, but my inspiration is sporadic. Expect periods (weeks) of no updates, or I'll do it regularly, or I'll do it daily as I am currently.

My plans on this story are pretty broad - this won't be a small story, and will likely span multiple POV's. Merlin will DEFINITELY play a pivotal role in the story, but he will not be the main character. I am not sure if Arthur will appear yet or not - I'm still split on whether or not this will accept the show canon of the world of Merlin being connected to the Modern World. If I go for the modern world connection, then Arthur will not appear. If I do not, he may appear, but only in the endgame of the fanfiction.

I hope you enjoy this experiment -Eehw


	4. Chapter 3: Caught

**Elaine Chapter 1: Caught**

The night-time had always made Elaine restless.

She could not explain in simple terms _why; _it was simply always like that ever since she was a young girl, a green-eyed child with no roots as her parents moved her from village to village across the unwelcoming lands of Essetir.

She didn't hate the restlessness, back then. Perhaps it was something about the magic of them, how all lights died but the ones that drew the family closest. She loved the night.

She now knew to curse it tenfold the love she ever had. Her mother made sure she did, anyway.

Night was now a time where she was sent out to do her task, lest her mother break the now-constant state of numbness that characterised her to acknowledge her daughter with a slap or pinch for such foolishness.

Any real love had died when her father was taken, taken by the very king in the fortress that sat on the hill above her now, the many lights in the squat central drum-tower flickering dimly in the growing darkness.

"Five silver, girl," the man before her motioned with his grubby hands, breaking her from her dreaming.

"Can't you make an exception, Harry?" she coyly asked, knowing that she was pushing it.

For good measure she flashed her quiet smile, the one the boys her age so often loved, though this man was near two decades her senior. It might still work.

Of course it worked. She saw the man's eyes sweep across her, though he was desperately trying to hold his post.

"I'm a man of the Lower Guard," he said, his shaking voice betraying his words. "I cannot be bought with smiles."

_So stiff. _Avalon, she didn't have all night.

"You aren't in standard. The "Once and Future King" isn't breathing down your back. What's a little favour for a friend?"

She pouted her lips and stood on her tip-toes, worming her fingers around his shoulder. _Mercy, he stinks_. No matter.

"I suppose… Just this once. If they like you, I want you with me later, though."

"Of Course," she replied, her insides sickened by what she would have to do.

She was a thief, of course. A lawful thief with a pretty face at that. In a court of fools, a pretty face was all you needed to get anywhere.

Like many of the lower guardsmen of the great Dinas Emrys, Harry often frequented the town come nightfall. He was a dunce, nowhere near important up in the high places of course, but seemed to have gained quite some pull in the taverns of the area.

Incidentally, he also held the key to the Laughing Fish, one of the biggest centres in the city for those seeking particular... information.

And he was an utter idiot.

She had been tracking him for weeks now, befriending him with little smiles and careful wishes around the nooks and crannies, just enough out of sight to make it seem natural. Within time, they were 'friends', though more often than not she would catch his eyes at her neck and shirt, hungry and pale.

Her mother had wanted her a whore, but she knew better. _What were her words again?."An honest living, it's what he would have wanted"_. If an honest living was prostitution, she might as well try something better. She couldn't use her other talent publicly anyhow.

Not after what happened to Father.

Maybe she could be both a thief and an 'honest girl'. Maybe information was worth more than anything some grubby man would want of her. This was her chance.

Her fingers closed around the badge he placed in her hand.

"It will get you in, sweet Ethel. I'll put in a good word."

"What, you don't want five silvers on top of all that?"

"I was just jesting. There's nothing beyond that. Come here, girl."

She tried to shake him off, but couldn't. The lips came crashing down on her own, his slobbery tongue forcing its way into her mouth. Her eyes clenched shut. She felt unclean, she had to get away, _now_, now-.

Finally, they broke. His eyes were dark.

"I'll see you at the Fish. You promised."

"I- Y-yes, Harry."

"_Sir Harry_."

She pushed him away, stumbling off. It was fine, right? She had gotten what she wanted, it was fine…

* * *

Shivering, she walked away down the alleyways onto the main road, the low candlelight from the few windows that opened onto the street doing little to assuage her worry. The night breathed loneliness. She punched herself in the gut, doubling over on the street as her stomach emptied.

She had to punish herself. This can't keep happening. Fifteen years on this earth, and still she couldn't keep a handle on it. She twisted her hand harder, she had to.

Unclean. Unclean, unclean-

A banging noise and a loud cry rang out one of the alleys to the side of her. She shot up from the ground, eyes a mask of composure. How long had she been on the ground?

_I can't get closer. I could die_.

Her curiosity won out, in the end. Stuffing the badge in her satchel, she crept closer along the walls towards the sound of the beating. The cries continued.

It was well-past witching hour. Who could be out?

Gradually, the voices drew closer.

"I-I'm not, I swear, I can-"

"Silence!"

A smack broke the silence again, Elaine visibly flinching on behalf of the recipient. Choked sobs filled the void, the voice unmistakably a only boy her age or so. It was… foreign, almost like-

"I didn't- Just trust me I-"

"You're a Scot. Nothing you say can be trusted. This pretty trinket proves everything. Aidan, get the ropes, we'll take him to the fort immediately. We can't have little snakes hiding in the grass, can we? Not after earlier."

Another grunt in the dark, a different voice. _A lackey_. She straightened.

She really shouldn't get closer, yet she was doing so anyway. Why in Avalon was she doing this?

Her mother would certainly not be pleased.

Her eyes had always been good in the dark. She saw the shape moving towards the cart. She had never been a fighter in the traditional sense, but she knew where to place her hands to take a life. She'd done it before.

He never expected her.

The lackey wasn't hard to hit with her club. No one expects a girl in the dark. There was a beat. For a moment, all she could hear was the blood pumping in her ears, the very same sensation when Harry had kissed her. Unfortunately, the club had made a noise.

The first man called out, his voice laden with confusion and suspicion. She felt his gaze sweep over where she had moved Aidan's body.

"Aidan? Are you there?"

There was no answer. She felt the hot breath of the lackey - Aidan, she noted - cease as she held him. She cursed.

"Aidan?"

A lamp was lit. She withdrew further into the shadows as the light drew closer in the dark. She could finally see, and she hated what was before her.

A tall man was looming over a bloodied mess on the floor with a strange necklace in hand, his eyes sweeping the darkness around him.

"He's gone…"

The man turned his attention to his prey, the bloodied pulp on the alley-floor. A strangled laugh came from the pulp on the floor.

"You're not supposed to laugh," the man said gruffly.

"He, he's g-gone?"

"You're not supposed to_ laugh_,"

The boy was near incredulous.

"You did this, you, bloody, did, this!" the man exclaimed, kicking the boy in the ribs each time.

There was a crunch. She'd had enough.

This had gone on enough. She withdrew the short club out of her pack. It would be enough for this. _Deep breaths, Elaine._

She was only halfway across the lamplight street when she felt strong arms around her, the man she had supposedly knocked out on his feet again. It was almost too familiar, too like…

She was having bad luck tonight.

"I caught a little peeper, Cyril."

She felt the tall man's free hand brush across her cheek, her eyes to the ground. He clenched her jaw, forcing her gaze to his. She could here a strangled cough behind him, the boy desperately trying to breathe from his ordeal.

She would have to fix him later, if she ever got out of this.

"Hello, you'll be okay, over there I-," she called out in some meagre attempt to comfort. "W-what's your name? I'm-"

"Don't speak to the little brat. You're a pretty little snake, aren't you girl?"

The man covered her entire view.

"I take my chances."

"Not working very well."

"So?"

He had the gall to laugh at her.

"I'm going to be a very rich man tonight, two little snakes in my belt. A stowaway mute, who was actually some Scotti brat, and a pretty little girl to add to it all? The gods are good."

She tried to smile, though it did little to convince her she was not afraid.

"I won't go with you."

"I know your type. You're desperate. I have much money from my exploits up north. We could-"

"No."

She hated where this was going. She had only ever stooped so low once, and it was at her mother's initial behest.

_If I didn't get that badge, I would be doing it daily_. She suddenly felt clammy.

His expression grew softer, his brow furrowing with a quiet rage. When he finally spoke, his words were mere whispers in the night.

"I could just take you, here and now. No one else is in this alley except Aidan. The others all went into the taverns, look."

He forced her head sideways. He was right. This was a part of town which was quite dark at night, with very little people about. No one cared when screams went out in the street. She felt his hand around her neck, but she took her chances, kneeing him in the gut. He howled.

"Aidan, make sure she doesn't get away. She can't-"

His tirade was cut off, his body being blasted into the wall across from her, his head bursting on contact with the wall. It took her awhile to gain her bearings, the blood racing in her ears stronger than it ever had. It was so cold. What…

She looked around her, the lamp still burning where Cyril had set it on the floor. Both himself and his lackey were out cold or dead, though which she did not know. She turned around only for an impossible sight to greet her.

The boy who had been, and still was, so broken, was staggering to his feet, shirt soaked in blood.. He had a choked smile, his bloodied face an array of different colours, almost quilt-like. Her heart turned to ice once her eyes met his.

They were a deep gold. Magic, it was magic. Why did it have to be magic?

Was he… was he smiling?

"G-Gally. M-my name's Gall-la-ha… "

She barely had time to catch him as he collapsed, eyes swollen shut in the night.

_So much for the Laughing Fish._

* * *

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_**AN: Sorry for the delay, had quite a few things to attend to. I don't know when I will have a consistent update schedule yet either. I'm sorry for anyone who came into this expecting Merlin to come into the story early on; you'll have to deal with these OC's for a while, but no fear! I plan to use him and other characters from the show (particularly Gwaine and Arthur) in very particular ways later on in the narrative. Expect older chapters to be continuously updated/improved as I see fit (though I will try and let you know when I update them or if new information is added that's important for later chapters).**_

_**EDIT: Changed up some language and added small character details. Here's something looking ahead, so you know what to expect.**_

_**The full list of OC's (modeled off of characters from Arthurian Legend) that will likely become POV characters in my original plan/already are:**_

_**Galahad (half-Scot warlock with mysterious heritage, trying to search for something to save his family); Main POV**_

_**Elaine, a thief with a troubled past and questionable morals; Main POV**_

_**Maleagant, head of the 'holy guard', a series of elite soldiers superior to regular guardsmen in Vortigern's keep; responsible for capturing and subjugating a large portion of sorcerers in Albion, and dabbles in magic himself; main POV**_

_**Gamile, Leofgifu's attendant/head sorceress for the Saxons; limited POV**_

_**Vortigern/"the Once and Future King"; limited POV**_

_**Leofgifu, queen of the Saxons-who-crossed-over-the-sea; Main POV**_

_**The Red Knight, a mysterious travelling swordsman with druidic origins; main POV but only introduced later**_

_**More characters will likely pop up as time goes on. This is a practice-thing for me. If you have any objections with treatment of topics/characters, or criticism of writing, please bring it up in the reviews! I'm doing this to improve and would very much like feedback!**_


	5. Chapter 4: Irreplaceable

**Maleagant Chapter 2: Irreplaceable**

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Maleagant found himself trudging through the bog, birch trees creaking in the dry breeze. This time of year wasn't kind to the world around him. There was smoke in the air, but from where he did not know.

"You. Don't pretend you can't hear me."

He jumped with a start. He hadn't heard that voice in many years.

"You. You are a bandit of Gorre, and nothing more. Did you forget how I salvaged you from the Southrons? Did you forget," it paused, before continuing. _Where was it coming from?_ "How I saved you from your fate, a mere boy in a coracle half-dead from the sea. Did you forget?"

He began to run, the mud squelching under his boots. He had to get out, _get out_-.

"Do you know what happens to the men of Gorre, if they cannot succeed their line?"

It was only then when he noticed he could not move. It was only then that he noticed the wind had died, and he was suspended in place, the darkening sun doing little to light the mossy ground. A figure stood before him, shapeless in the shadow of the ghost-trees. He opened his mouth to try to speak, to reason, but nothing came out. The voice continued, his_ father's voice_. He felt a cold, firm hand on his shoulder, chilling him to the bone.

"You left me. You left me to die, to pursue some half-dreamt fancy in the east. I told you that you would just be left alone again. That I'm the only one for you, but you didn't listen… "

The tears froze to his cheeks, though he did not remember crying them.

"You're no son of mine. Not now, not ever. Now, to pay your toll."

The figure disappeared. He was alone, and could move again. Turning around, he found himself at the shore of a massive lake of glass, a distant isle looming. Voices began to chant all around him, the cold winds blasting. The sun yet hid her face.

"What do I do with you?" a new voice asked, high and reedy. He hadn't even noticed the woman that had come next to him, her face masked with painted wicker. He had never seen her before.

Hands reached out from the dead birch bark.

_Die, die, die, die_, the voices chanted.

"And die you shall."

He felt frail hands clench and claw at his flesh, rending his clothes and cutting into his skin. He was bleeding, but couldn't move his arms, his legs. He was helpless.

The last thing he saw as he was pulled into the mire of the lake by unseen hands was the woman he didn't know, her hands covered in his own blood, the wicker-mask betraying little of her own emotion. He knew what she felt, though he could not see her face. She didn't care enough as the soft mud filled his lungs, as the cold wet ate at his now-severed hand, as the hands closed around his throat. He couldn't bear it. She didn't care, as the crowd screamed and jeered. She just didn't. He can't die, he can't. The Once and Future King needed him, he-.

* * *

He jerked upwards, casting the sheets aside for air. He gripped the bedside, his hands still shaking from what he saw. _Die, die, die_. He hated this feeling_, _not being in control.

He hadn't been 'gifted' a nightmare like this for a long while.

Before he could collect himself from his sweat-soaked covers, the door opened. His hands were half to his dagger when he noticed who had opened: just a serving-boy, though not one he cared to know the name of. His eyes were wide and frightened, almost like a rabbit. A small but particularly spiteful part of himself noticed that the boy hadn't even food to bring him.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, his face drawn into a sneer but his voice still shaken from his waking sleep.

"M-my lord, I was going to wake you."

"Well, I'm awake." _Honestly, was he simple?_ "Where is my food?"

"Don't you remember? You were to break-fast with the King this morning."

Maleagant let out a groan, hands rubbing his temples. _Better than father's servants, at least._

"Go. I'll get my clothes. Tell his majesty I'll be down soon enough."

"But-"

"_Go_."

At the close of the door, he let his mask fall, his breathing heavy in the oppressive room. He had to get air. Drawing back the shutters, he let light in from the outer court. The morning was grey and cold, as was now common in the former lands of Gawant, but he wouldn't have it any other way. It was better than the foundation period, the constant creation and destruction of Dinas Emrys, fires in the night out of nothing, the world ending thrice over…

_None of that. None of that._ He clenched his fists.

He needed something, anything to forget the mud filling his lungs. Anything, to forget his father's cold voice calling from the mires._ You… _

Old wains wheeled their way to and fro in the courtyard below, their creaking sounds not altogether different from the birch trees in his dream. _Maybe that's all it was: a dream._ In his heart though, however he tried to ignore it he knew that he had never been so lucky.

He drew himself up, taking a deep breath and brushing his sandy locks aside. The precious king of thieves had always been so proud of his foster son's hair, had he not? Today, he would fix that.

Almost mildly, his mind drifted to the barbarian queen he had seen on his post at Old Oak's Hill. Her eyes were like none he had ever seen…

He knew what the king wanted him to do, but more importantly: he knew what he wanted to do. No one had ever stopped him when he set his mind to things, not the pimp he had escaped, not Fath-_ Baeddan_ of the wilds of Gorre, and not this king, however holy or prophesied he might be.

Dreams were made to be cut off, he supposed. That's all he'd ever done anyway.

Drawing his hair back, he took the dagger from his bedside and cut the back. This would be the last he wore his hair like that again.

Today would be the second time in his life he would throw away a father. It was a wonder he had kept that old hairstyle alive, a mere relic of his childhood at Gorre. He looked down at his bare chest, and realised he hadn't changed yet. Sighing, he threw open the dresser.

_If only he could leave sooner._

* * *

It was always cold in the high hall of Vortigern, the high seats on the dais empty for all but one. The past few days had been filled with activity, the delegates of the kingdoms of Albion having met several times to discuss the nature of the Saxon alliance. It was no secret at court that the decision was unpopular at best, but Vortigern had held resolute.

After all, they didn't know about the King's ace. _They don't know about me_. He smirked, shivering. For a chamber with a hearth that was always lit, the cold didn't seem to ever go away. Perhaps it should have been a given.

With the defeat of the two dragons, warmth had been sacrificed for firm ground, and fire for safety. There were two Vortigerns, or so the legend said: one to begin the rise of legend, and one to fulfill it. The first apparently had given his life in the effort to find the legendary Emrys, so that his son could rise to become the Once and Future King of prophecy, and unite the void in the land left from Camelot's demise.

Maleagant had only ever had the pleasure of serving the second.

When he had first met his king, he had been little but an angry thief eager to prove himself capable apart from his adoptive father. Now, he was a man who had killed and captured thousands in the name of a prophecy he didn't believe in, and yet another figure of authority who used him to discard.

One could call him wiser, but he wouldn't say that either. Nobles were all the same.

It wasn't the death that disturbed him, of course. Maleagant had no qualms with killing._ It's in my blood_, he thought as he mindlessly ran his fingers over the steel of his dagger. It was then the King decided to speak, his face surly yet burdened with strange contempt..

"You're late."

"I'm nothing, if not dutiful." _Liar._

"Do you remember the plans I layed out for you three days ago?"

He rose his eyes across the table to his King. Vortigern was looking at him again, colourless eyes doing little to salvage his mood.

"Of course," he said clenching his teeth from the cold, or something else. "I am to go meet the Queen, and fight her own for her favour, becoming her sworn knight, winning her love through bravery and battle. Then I am to become her lover and keeper, pulling the Saxons fully under the influence of the Crown and further ensuring obedience among the common-folk in Northumberland." he drawled out, conveniently leaving out his own plans in the matter.

The Saxon queen had seemed ever-so averse to the idea of housing a sorcerer guard on her longships, but it changed nothing. Everyone knew Vortigern had the most peculiar effect on the world around him, when there was something he wanted; the ships would be slow enough up the coast for his guard to intercept them. Many had guessed as to how such a man could bend the weather to his will, prophesied or not.

_It's the ghost of Emrys_, some would say. _It's the Holy grail_. Both fancies made him scoff.

The Holy Grail was little more than a trinket in a dining hall, and Emrys an old wives' tale. Maleagant knew it was far closer to simply say the sorcerers he'd ferried away into his king's hungry grasp, never to see the light of day again.

Not that anyone apart from himself and the guard knew what the King did with them.

He hadn't even noticed the king's cold hand settle on his shoulder, or even that the king had moved from his dusty chair, until it had happened. An action that had so often in the early days brought him the warmth of a father's love now only gave way to emptiness, cold and uncaring. Everyone knew how the spider worked, though no one said it out loud.

"You've been irreplaceable, Sir Maleagant."

"I was late."

"It doesn't matter, take a seat."

The chairs were cold too. They sat in silence, until the King finally spoke.

"Those plans have been… augmented."

"Did you not wish me to depart today?"

"Of course. But I need you to do something more, for me. I've decided there was too much left to chance."

He saw a dull pendant slide towards him from across the great table. Picking it up, he saw it engraved with signs and figures, wrought of iron._ No sidhe could touch this_. An oppressive feeling hung about it like a shroud.

"Dark Magic? I didn't think you so crude, your Majesty."

The king laughed hoarsely, the fire crackling in the dull light. The laugh brought out half-drawn emotions Maleagant would sooner forget. They had no place with his decisions to come.

"Dark Magic means nothing in my court. Besides, you are one to talk, are you not?"

Maleagant conceded silently. There was no point in petty spats with the King.

"It's a pendant, a soul-stealer. A tricky little thing, borne and fused with Manticore venom from the Spirit World. One drop of blood of the recipient, and one use only, then done. It will take the mind and heart of another and turn it to your will. I want you to use it on the Queen herself, once you have the chance."

"This is quite unusual for you, Sire. Even you tend to leave some things for the gods to decide…"

"Gods or demons, ghosts or fae, I've stopped believing in the whims of fate a long time ago. Even that can be controlled," the boney man stated, eyes hungrily looking at Maleagant. "I want you to control her every move. I want you to do it _sooner_ rather than _later_. Why need tact, when you have power like this? Is this clear?"

"Yes, Sire."

"And no tricks. I have one too."

He felt dread wash over him as he saw the king withdraw a pendant of his own from his pocket.

"I have your blood. One drop, one word against me, and I'll have you forever."_ Damn._ "I won't do it yet though," he paused. "I value relationships built on trust, don't you?"

The knight suddenly felt uncomfortable, but not yet cowed.

"I have one question, before I ready the Holy Guard."

"Which is?"

"You could ask me to use this on anyone. If you had something like this, why not just infiltrate the Scotti themselves? March them to your gates?"

A sharp whistle brought a falcon from its roost in the rafters, claws clenching on the arm-guard of the Once and Future King. Even in the half light, Maleagant could tell his superior's lips were pursed.

"The Saxons are a people who care little for our own politics, and are a proud people. Our sorcerors cannot get through the wards the Scots have set, expendable as they are I do not wish for more dying. The Saxons are _foreign_, they are _new_, they will pass."

"And what of the land you left for them, in Northumberland? Do the councilmen approve?"

"Not likely. I don't care. I would rather savages from the South control the borderlands than savages from the north, tact be damned. The Saxons… mean something to me. Nothing more, nothing less."

The king paused, a cold whisper wracking its way through the halls. Something in the sheen of the tiled floor shifted and changed, almost like writhing snakes, or churning water._ Die, die, die_. He felt his throat closing up. Vortigern smiled his mirthless smile, and spoke once more.

"In Gorre, I recall meeting a bandit-prince who I thought only invested in his own interests. I believe I know you better now, is that right?"

"Men change."

"Of… course. You couldn't dream of failing me, could you?"

"Never, your Majesty."

"I'll be seeing you at the end of your journey, Sir Knight. You're dismissed."

His own plans would have to wait. He grit his teeth.

_I will play along, for now._

* * *

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_**Well, here is the first full-length chapter. They'll only get longer from here, as the story naturally picks up. Hopefully this gives some more insight into who Maleagant is, and what the nature of his arc will become in future. I've currently slated the first 'cycle' of this narrative to be around seventeen to twenty chapters long. I hope I can keep it within that range, to do what I want to do.**_

_**I've decided to have Arthur return in this story as well, but the nature of that return is still up in the air.**_

_**Have a nice week!**_


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